“Maybe it’s just that I’m placing a lot of value on a good horse.”
“You must have thought a deal of that animal. Now you take the cayuse that was shot out from under me--just a plain range horse. Plenty good for cow work, but nothing fancy, and about as ornery as you can make them. Course I hate to lose the horse, but I’m not going to shed a whole lot of tears.”
In spite of himself, Slim felt his eyes filling as he looked at the saddle. His voice choked.
“You can say that all right. You had just a plain horse to lose--but I had Lightning.”
Chuck looked at his companion sharply and saw that Slim was deeply affected.
“I never had anything but a cayuse,” he said. “Maybe if I’d had a really fine horse I would have some idea of how you feel.”
“Maybe you would. You see, Lightning was almost human. I could talk to her and she’d understand almost everything I said.”
“That’s a lot more than a good many humans can do.”
“Lightning was smarter than a lot of humans.” Slim stretched his long legs on the blanket beside the fire, pillowed his head on the saddle and looked up toward the new moon.
A desperate ache tugged at his heart. Lightning was gone and there was only a great void there. He had to talk, he had to tell Chuck about the wonder of his horse. If he didn’t he knew he would burst out in tears, a highly undignified thing for a husky young cowhand to do.